


Afternoon, Garbage Monster

by CallousHeartz



Series: How Time Decides [7]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Gen, the one in which Ghoul passes out and Kobra finds him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 14:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: Ghoul makes a sensible decision.





	Afternoon, Garbage Monster

**Author's Note:**

> hey! just another quick reminder that the Killjoys aren't MCR in any of my writing (putting that here because parts of this might get a little confusing otherwise.) - Soph xo

"Good thing I found ya when I did, right?"

A familiar voice cuts through the haze of Ghoul's mind as his eyes slide reluctantly open. 

"Kobra?"

Naturally, the blonde kid and his pierced-lip grin are the last thing Ghoul's expecting to see as consciousness finally creeps over him.

"That's m'name. How dead are ya feelin’ on a scale of one t'fucking dusted?"

Ghoul props himself up as far as he can, scratching at his hair. There's a mattress underneath him, he's come to realise - he's pretty sure there's a loose spring jabbing his back, but hey, mattresses of basically any condition are a luxury out here.

"Like... bad. Yeah, pretty bad," He mumbles. His joints feel like they've been twisted and individually knocked with a baseball bat, his skull's pounding and his mouth's drier than the sand outside. He lowers himself back down in the hopes of relieving his nausea, if ever so slightly.

"Wha' the hell happened?" He manages eventually. 

Kobra, he notes, looks like he's seen a ghost. His forced smile stands out against his paler-than-usual face, and his eyes look a little too drained to belong to a teenager.

"Found you by the old Pegasus," He explains, "You were only kinda awake, all floppy like a damp sock, and I was like 'shit, man, he looks a bit dead, I should go over to 'im,' and then I did and it hit me and I was like, ' _shit_ , man, I know that damp sock!' And so I brought ya back with me, you passed out fully and yeah, here we are,"

Ghoul's silent as he takes it in,  
"How long was I out for?"

Kobra shrugs.  
"Few hours. Somethin' like tha',"

"Fuck," Ghoul mutters, and after a moment he adds, "Thanks, man,"

"No problem," Kobra sighs, "A friend in need is a friend worth dragging home and shoving onto a mattress in the spare room. Oh yeah - welcome back to this place,"

Ghoul takes a second to observe his surroundings, "Sweet."

Then he remembers, and his face falls.

"Oh, fuck - "

Kobra shakes his head.  
"It's fine. Don't think about that shit right now. Y'need to focus on letting yerself rest,"

"Won't be able to rest all that much with _him_ on my case,"

"Yes, you will," Kobra replies, before hastily adding, "And he ain't on yer case, anyway. Now go t'sleep or somethin', ya half-dead motherfucker."

"A'ight," Ghoul yawns shortly. Might as well enjoy having access to a mattress, "Night, snake man."

"Afternoon, garbage monster," Kobra replies, closing the door softly as he leaves the room.

Ghoul shifts to get comfortable, but something's stopping him. And it's not the springs in the mattress.  
He manages to drift off, but not without a sinking feeling in his ribcage and a sense of dread at what he might wake up to this time.

                                ***

The Killjoys gather in one of the diner's few dingy booths, voices low to avoid waking the visitor in the next room.

"He needs somewhere to stay," Jet states, "For now, at least. Fuck knows how he's made it this far, but I'm not sure how much longer he’ll hold up. It's ruthless out there, we all know that, and it's defintely no place to try and make ends meet solo,"

"Exactly," Kobra agrees. 

Their leader's scarcely ever this quiet throughout a discussion. If it weren't for that regular indignance in his eyes, this would feel weird, almost unnatural. 

"All personal bullshit aside," Jet continues, "Like, it's just human decency."

Poison leans back in his seat, eyeing the two members of his crew but still saying nothing. 

"Oh, come on," Kobra folds his arms, "You'd really chuck a guy out whilst he's delirious as shit and can barely sit up?"

"When the fuck did I say that?" Poison snaps.

"Well, you 'aven't been saying much to tell us otherwise," Kobra retorts, "You can't expect us t'read your damn mind."

Poison huffs, rolling his eyes.  
"Alright, listen. The dickhead stays 'til he's recovered, and then he takes himself somewhere else. There. Settled?"

It's as if the tension in the air's been popped with a pin.  
Kobra and Jet nod.

"And he'd better not get in my fuckin' way whilst he's here," Poison warns, "If he says a single word to me, he'll have one hell of a price to pay. Got me?"

"He won't speak to you," Kobra bluntly assures him.

"Good."

                               ****

It's about mid-morning the next day when Ghoul wakes up. Already sick of laying in the same room, he stumbles out of one door and into the next: the bathroom, it appears. It's tiny and cramped and there's no shower, just a grimy toilet and an equally grimy sink with a frameless mirror above it.

Ghoul briefly inspects his own face in the glass, a single thin, diagonal crack stretched across his reflection. 

_I look like death warmed up._

His dark eyes are as dull and foggy as his mind, the bags beneath them a little more prominent - but then again, it's been a while since the last time he got a proper look at his own face.  
His jet black hair's flat and caked in grease and dirt, and his stubble’s grown thicker.

Ghoul sticks his tongue out at his reflection, before splashing his face with water - icy and enough of a shock to cut through the mist on his brain for a second - and drying it on his faded yellow T-shirt.

He steps out to find himself in what had been the main part of the diner long before the Killjoys had taken it up and made it their home.  
There's no one there; it's safe to assume the gang have gone out on a raid or something. He slides into one of the booths, right up by the window, and as he glances out at the clear morning sky he makes a discovery. 

Perhaps two thirds of the gang are off somewhere, but bright red hair catches his eye. 

_Great. Just my luck,_ Ghoul thinks bitterly, _of course_ he's _still here._

And then Fun Ghoul's struck with a realisation which leads to what might just be the most sensible decision he's come to so far in all 18 years of his life.

He could be here a while - it's not like Jet and Kobra are gonna let him run back into the fucking wilderness alone anytime soon, especially after this little incident. And if he's gonna be here a while... well, they can't avoid eachother forever.

****

"Haven't you got other shit to attend to?"

The cold reply isn't enough to make Ghoul veer away. Never has been.

"No, actually. I haven't."

Poison's sat on the roof of the car, his windswept hair masking most of his face. He pushes it back as his callous eyes settle on Ghoul's face.

Ghoul lays a hand on the car roof,

"Can I?" 

Poison responds with another glare, and Ghoul purses his lips. 

It's not like he'd expected this conversation to run smoothly or anything - this is Poison, after all.  
He just wants to get this shit over and done with.

A moment later, Ghoul hears him sigh sharply, before he slides over a little,

"Fine then. Get on with it," He taps the space beside him curtly.

Ghoul gives a solemn nod and clambers onto the roof, legs dangling over the edge. 

Poison sits in silence for a bit, picking nonchalantly away at whatever remains of his black nail paint.

"Go on," he says eventually, eyes flickering up and making Ghoul jump a bit, "What d'you want?"

"Didn't want anything," Ghoul mumbles.

"You're here," comes the blunt reply, "So clearly ya did,"

Ghoul shrugs.

"Just uh," He picks quickly, nervously maybe, at his scabbed knuckles, "You're alone, and I - "

"And that doesn't mean I'm lookin' for conversation," Poison spits, slicing right through Ghoul's sentence.

But then his eyes soften, and he throws Ghoul an apologetic look. 

A blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort of thing, but it happened. And it seems Poison regrets that accidental display of remorse the second after because then he lets out a slightly shaky breath, clenches and unclenches his fists, and slides off the roof.

Ghoul follows and quickly catches up, grasping the leather sleeve of Poison's jacket. Poison retracts his arm like he's been burnt, but he stops walking away and turns, meeting Ghoul's eye.  
As always, the look gives Ghoul a sinister sort of chill - he shakes it off, swallowing and clearing his throat.

"I feel like we need to talk." He says, "Properly."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Poison replies.

"And why's that?"  
Ghoul's already having doubts about this, remembering exactly why talking to Poison is so tough.

"Because I don't trust ya."

"I don't trust you either," Ghoul replies, "And I don't want to. But if I'm gonna be around here for - "

"I never said how long you could stay," Poison interrupts.

"Why don't you just tell me to go, then?"

"Never said you had to go yet, either," Poison lifts his chin so that he's looking down his nose at Ghoul, "Kobra and Jet would have somethin' to say if I did."

"Well, then," Ghoul continues, "As I suggested - we should talk."

In silence, Poison heads back to the car and slips onto the roof. He looks expectantly at Ghoul, who then follows him up.

"Talk," Poison demands, and Ghoul hesitates.

"You can't just put me on the spot like that,"

"I ain't puttin' you on the spot," Poison replies, "Y'said ya wanted us to talk, so clearly you've got something to say. Talk,"

Ghoul raises his brows,  
"You're a real piece of work,"

Poison smirks at the horizon, reclining on his elbows,  
"I’m aware."

For the first time, Ghoul notices the letters inked just below his protruding collarbones. He can just make out what isn't hidden by his jacket:  
'.....TE THE DEAD. LEAD T.....'

"You've got a bunch of ink, haven't you?"

"I have," Poison replies simply, sitting up straight and moving his lapels to cover his collarbones, "Is that really what you came here to talk about?"

 _Well shit,_ Ghoul thinks.  
He's passed by a few tattoo studios out here already, and he'd trust approximately none of them with his skin.

The pair sit in uptight silence for a bit longer. 

"Y'know, I've always wondered how you are the way you are," Ghoul remarks, "Because I could never be like that myself."

Poison narrows his eyes,  
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not saying I like, admire any aspect of you or anything - pfft, that'd take some effort on both sides - but real talk, I don't think I've ever met someone who thinks so highly of themself. And it's just a little surprising to me because like... I dunno, I could never imagine feeling like that. Must've taken practice,"

Poison raises a brow, "So essentially, you want to ask me if I've always been an asshole with an inflated ego, but you don't know how to phrase it politely,"

"Why would I try and phrase it politely?" Ghoul sounds genuinely offended, "I'm talking to you of all people."

"See, the thing is," Poison ignores the comment, "We all learn to survive out here in different ways. We adapt. With so much to fight for, you gotta find your own way to stand your ground. But it’s not quite that in my case. It’s just like..." He leans back again with a slight, smug grin, "How could I _not_ be at least a little vain? I have to see my own reflection everyday."

Ghoul shrugs,  
"You're a... y'know, pretty decent looking guy, I'll agree with you there," He replies, quietly adding, "Pretty on the outside."

"Why's your face so red all of a sudden?" Poison asks calmly, and Ghoul turns away fast,

"We're sitting under the sun," He mumbles, "What do you expect?"

"Thought you'd be used to the heat by now. You've been out here long enough for _that_ at least,"

"Yeah, well some days the sun's hotter than usual. Or I dunno, maybe I'm colder today so it's heating me up more or something. Or - “

"Alright, I got it," Much to Ghoul’s relief, Poison cuts off the stream of incoherent bullshit with a wave of the hand.

"Yeah." Ghoul replies. He coughs quietly, "So uh, yeah. I think we're just very different dudes, which is why we clash so much. We're irritating assholes in different ways,"

"Speak for yourself," Poison replies smoothly, "I don't irritate anyone but you,"

"Well, you also kinda irritate an entire very powerful corporation," Ghoul points out, "And so do I,"

"That's why we're out here."

"Exactly."

There's a pause, before Poison quietly asks,  
"How long've you actually been out here?"

Ghoul thinks for a moment, picking stones out of the sole of his trainer,  
"Eh, it's been a little hard keeping track of time these days, but I reckon about three months. Four, maybe. How about you?"

 _Welp, fuck,_ Ghoul thinks the second it's left his lips, _He's the leader of the Killjoys, fucksake, you're gonna look like a joke now._

"Six years, I think," Poison replies.

Ghoul looks up from his shoe,  
"Just six?"

"Yeah," Poison says thoughtfully, "I was thirteen."

"Woah. I dunno, I expected a little longer."

Poison shakes his head, "I ran away too, y'know. We all did."

"Guess I'd never really thought about it," Ghoul's voice is low, introspective almost. He shuts his eyes quickly and exhales as if hastily tucking thoughts away.  
“Well, it's been interesting talking, I guess. Like, without killing eachother. Anyway,"  
He slides off the roof,  
"I'll go in now, leave you alone. Yeah,"

"Alright," Poison replies coolly, lounging back and looking in the opposite direction.

"Yeah. Bye," Ghoul mumbles, before shoving his hands in his jean pockets and quickly walking back to the diner.  
He breathes a sigh of relief as he pushes the door open, then lets himself slide to the floor on the other side.

"Damn, dude," A cheery British accent takes him by surprise, and he looks up to see Kobra beaming at him from one of the booths, Jet beside him.

Ghoul's eyes widen,  
"Fuckin' hell, how long have you guys been here?"

Kobra shrugs.  
"Not too long," Jet replies. He smiles, and Ghoul smiles back, before getting up, mumbling something about feeling tired and scuttling off to his temporary room.


End file.
